


All in Good Time

by graves_expectations



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Undressing, the most softcore blowjob you've ever read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 00:08:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10887777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graves_expectations/pseuds/graves_expectations
Summary: “Please,” Credence breathes. He knows from vast experience that he doesn’t need to elaborate. He couldn’t if he tried, probably. All he knows is that if he sayspleasethen Percival will always, always oblige. The sun rises in the west and sets in the east. The sky is blue and grass is green and Percival Graves understands everything that Credence Barebone struggles to articulate for himself.





	All in Good Time

Percival never uses magic to undress him. He’ll banish his own clothes to the ether with an efficient, _impatient_ flick of his hand often, but only once he’s bared all of Credence first.

He’s never impatient with Credence, except in highly specific situations where they’re both much too keyed up for taking their time.

Today does not meet that criteria though. It’s just a normal—albeit unusually humid—summer night. Percival and Credence had been apart during the work day, reunited again to share the evening. The sun has set and it’s getting towards what _should_ be bedtime, but the bedroom around them is still too hot and too light for sleep. Fortunately, sleep is the last thing on either of their fevered minds right now.

Percival’s hands are slow and steady as they take hold of the lapels of Credence’s jacket and slide it down his arms to his elbows. With Credence’s arms trapped then, he uses his grip on the fabric to pull Credence towards him. Credence goes willingly, almost unthinkingly, captivated by the furrow of concentration in the middle of Percival’s forehead, the width of his liquid dark pupils that swallow all the colour from the irises which normally encircle them.

The curl of Percival’s smile that he leans in to press against Credence’s mouth is self-satisfied, the touch of his tongue against Credence’s lower lip promising but all too brief before he’s pulling back again.

The jacket hits the floor with a soft rustle of cloth and Credence’s arms are free again, so he sets his hands on Percival’s waist.

He’s already breathless just from one kiss. His eyes are stinging because blinking has become secondary to just _watching_ and he tracks Percival’s hands as they drop to his tie next. Deft fingers pick the knot apart and drag the silk from around his neck, the noise of it sliding against the coarser material of his shirt overly loud in the silence between them.

 _I should be used to this by now_ , Credence thinks, but every time somehow feels like the first time when he has all of Percival’s faithful attention directed at him like this. How could such a gift ever become commonplace to him?

With a swift motion of Percival’s thumb and forefinger, Credence’s top shirt button is undone and Percival is dipping his head to kiss the side of his neck. The air in Credence’s lungs is punched out of him by the move, head lolling back to show more of his throat. Percival takes advantage of the offer right away, moving to suck at the underside of Credence’s jaw, mouth hot and insistent, knuckles brushing against Credence’s chest as he undoes another button.

Suddenly, Credence wants nothing more than to be lying down for this. He’s so dizzy that he’s weak with it, flushed and sweating, body too small and too tight to contain his boiling blood and his aching bones.

He grabs at Percival’s tie, pulling the end out from where it’s tucked into his waistcoat, and tugs Percival forwards while he blindly steps backwards in the direction of the bed. When his thighs hit the mattress, he lets himself fall, still keeping hold of Percival’s tie so that Percival goes with him. His fingers abandon Credence’s buttons at that point in order to brace himself with palms flat on either side of Credence’s shoulders, all to avoid dropping down onto him.

Credence wouldn’t have minded in the slightest. He can’t explain it aloud, but he _adores_ having Percival cover him, loves being pinned, immobilised by his full weight. He spent so much of his life up to now afraid of splitting apart. Drifting off. Flying away. The most secure he’s ever felt is when Percival is heavy on top of him and holding him down.

He cups Percival’s shoulder blades, urges Percival to bring their bodies together.

“Hush,” Percival says, even though Credence hasn’t said a word. Credence understands him perfectly though as always and he forces his hands to slacken against Percival’s back.

“All in good time, sweetness,” Percival murmurs. He opens yet another button, shifts his own body further back, and leans over Credence to mouth at his sternum. He continues on like that, dragging his hungry, open lips down the length of Credence’s chest as he reveals it. Credence pants for breath when Percival pushes the shirt aside to bare his nipples, whines when blood-hot lips purse around each one in turn, the wetness left by Percival’s mouth cooled by the ragged breaths against his skin.

Credence puts one loosely curled hand up to his own mouth, half-holding his chin, and lets the tip of his index finger dip inside his lips the way he’s been wanting to for an age. There’s always a soothing, _grounding_ effect to having something in his mouth when he’s overwhelmed like this—it’s akin to the feeling he gets when Percival is pressing him against walls or the bed or, quite memorably, the _floor_.

Percival moves on far too quickly, shifting lower to unfasten the last of Credence’s shirt buttons so he can part the material and kiss Credence’s abdomen, the muscles there quivering and jumping under the attention, under the effort of not shifting his hips too noticeably. His trousers have become so tight as to be uncomfortable now. He can’t lose his awareness of them for a single second and it’s driving him mad with restraint.

Percival pulls his shirt tails out, bends to press his lips right above Credence’s belt buckle, and Credence can hold back no longer. He lifts his pelvis just a few inches, eyes slipping shut and mouth dropping open at the minute sliver of friction that gets him. Utter bliss.

His hand leaves his mouth and he moves it up to twine in his own hair, tugging fretfully every now and then.

“ _Credence_ ,” Percival says. He’s upright again, sitting on Credence’s bony knees. It can’t be comfortable for him, but he doesn’t look remotely bothered by that. His clothes are immaculate still, but above them he just looks _ruined_ , all dishevelled hair, pink cheeks, and red, swollen mouth.

Credence doesn’t even attempt to resist another squirm at the very sight of him, at the sound of that deep, beloved voice saying _his name._ Credence may not be his true given name, that’s lost to time and circumstance now, but this one... it’s never sounded more right, more _his,_ than when it’s spilling off of Percival’s tongue. Hearing him say it is enough to give Credence a small, tingly thrill at any time, even when Percival just tacks his name onto the beginning or end of a simple statement or question, but the effect is always more potent when they’re together like _this_.

“Please,” Credence breathes. He knows from vast experience that he doesn’t need to elaborate. He couldn’t if he tried, probably. All he knows is that if he says _please_ then Percival will always, always oblige. The sun rises in the west and sets in the east. The sky is blue and grass is green and Percival Graves understands everything that Credence Barebone struggles to articulate for himself.

“Anything for you,” Percival replies, low and amused.

His words are teasing in their lightness, but that same lightness still makes Credence’s eyes burn because he really _means it._ Embarrassed, Credence throws an arm across his face, only to have Percival’s hand come up straight away to remove it.

“Don’t hide from me,” he says, but it’s a request rather than a command in his gentle cadence. “Not from me.”

The next sounds that fill the room are a few metallic clinks and then the rasp of leather. That’s Credence’s belt gone. The noises still make him tense, but not in a bad way now that the association has been changed unalterably in his mind. The tautness of his body is nothing to do with conditioned expectation of _fear, pain, punishment_ any longer and everything to do with a tender, steadfast man teaching him that the removal of his belt brings nothing but _anticipation, desire, release_.

Percival’s lips caress the skin of his hip just below his waistband, hands pushing the top of his trousers down a little on either side instead of going for his fly immediately. Credence clenches his fists in the sheets, head tipping back in a bid to help get more air into his burning lungs as he gives a sharp inhale at the feeling of Percival’s mouth _so close_ to where he really craves it.

The buzz of a zipper descending is like music to Credence’s ears. He arches at once to help Percival in removing his trousers, sighing in relief when Percival does so without any further stalling. There’s still his underwear to contend with though.

“ _Please_ ,” he repeats.

Percival gives a throaty chuckle at Credence’s eagerness, settling himself on Credence’s legs again and leaning over him. “I’m getting there,” he says, “don’t worry. Do I ever leave you wanting?”

As he speaks, mouth poised once more above Credence’s pelvis, his breath ghosts over the hard, rigid line of him.

“Never,” Credence gasps out obediently. His eyes flutter shut when Percival’s fingers drift over to the front of his shorts and start to unbutton them.

“Never,” Percival says, voice more matter-of-fact than smug, “not once.”

With that said, he peels that final barrier away, drawing the shorts down over Credence’s thighs at an agonising pace, pressing open-mouthed kisses near to the pounding of Credence’s pulse in each as he goes, and then pulls them off to throw them aside.

At last, Credence is fully naked before him.

Long gone are the days when Credence might have covered himself in shame at being so exposed while Percival remains fully dressed. Percival has taught him that there _is_ no shame in sharing their bodies this way, no sin in deriving pleasure from each other’s hands and mouths and flesh. The only shame, he had said, was in the denial of one’s own wants and needs.

And what Percival _wants_ is to cherish him, Credence knows that as well as he knows every word to _Our Father_. Percival _needs_ to give Credence pleasure before he’ll take his own. All Percival’s wants and needs have become Credence’s by extension and he’ll do everything in his power to make sure they’re met the same as Percival does for him.

So of course he doesn’t cover himself. He summons all of his confidence—the memory of every compliment and assurance Percival has given him—like he does every time, and tries to be alluring. Sensual. He smiles languidly up at Percival, eyelashes dipping. He pushes his hips off the bed, drawing Percival’s gaze to his aching erection. He touches the back of his left index finger to his lower lip and catches both between his teeth. He rests his right, dominant hand on his stomach and then gradually inches it down.

In seconds, Percival is on him again, taking that teasing hand in his own to stop it reaching its goal.

“Allow me,” he says.

His back curves, his eyes close, and his mouth descends. Percival guides the hand he’s holding to clench in his hair and Credence does, clutching at the soft strands while Percival sucks him with an ardour that he’ll never cease to be awed by.

“Percival,” he says on a shaky breath out. “I’m really clo—oh _God_.”

He’s trying to warn him that he’s already on the edge, even though Percival has never pulled off him once when he has in the past. As usual, Percival’s only response to his worrying is to take him deeper with each bob of his head.

Scorching need coils inside Credence’s stomach, a knot twisting itself and him with it tighter and tighter, until he’s biting down hard on the finger in his mouth and coming with a muffled groan torn from his throat.

Percival’s eyes remain shut after, his forehead smooth as he gives Credence a few last gentle swallows, seemingly lost in the acute pleasure of doing so while Credence’s legs spasm with overstimulation on either side of him.

When Percival pulls back, the thumb he wipes along his lush lower lip makes Credence _burn_.

“Now you,” Credence says, the words gasped out because he’s panting for air. His heart is beating so hard and fast that he feels like he’d keel over if he was upright.

With a bright, satisfied grin and a familiar motion of his hand, Percival’s clothes disappear.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fill for the prompt: 'hungry kisses on every bit of newly visible skin as clothing is slowly peeled away'. Thank you, anon, I hope you like it! Being a bit more explicit, I've separated this one out, but some previous prompt fills that I lumped together are [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10759344)


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